


All the Wrong People

by Eternallost



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: AU, Adventure, Aged-Up Character(s), Banter, Choices, F/M, Hate to Love, Love/Hate, Mentor/Protégé, Mystery, Schism happened but they came back together, Slow Burn, Teasing, chaperone, murderous intent, vfd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2019-12-07 19:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18239117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternallost/pseuds/Eternallost
Summary: The VFD schism occurred, but the members were able to reform into something stronger. To accomplish this, they paired chaperones from one side of the past schism with apprentices from the other. On her eighteenth birthday, much to her chagrin, Violet Baudelaire is paired with Count Olaf. Together they set forth on a mission to solve a mystery. That is, if they can ever see eye to eye.





	1. Have you been good to your mother?

Such a quiet little thing, this Baudelaire brat, staring out the window across from him on the passenger’s seat of the rambling train. That forlorn look in her eyes burned him to cinders.

“Had to leave mommy and daddy sometime.” He crossed his ankle over his knee, flipping the newspaper page. Mistakes preserved in ink for posterity. “Grow up, Miss Baudelaire.”

The look she gave him was venom, though he wasn’t sure if it was the type to kill him slow or quick. “I _am_ grown.”

He looked her over absently, then back to his pages. They _were_ recruiting older these days. Not that they could make up for past mistakes. “There are different types of grown. You ought to know that.” By now she was fuming. Good. Better than that annoying look in her eyes. “Or is it that you’re upset by your appointed chaperone?”

She crossed her arms, then her legs, and stared pointedly out the window. “My parents said they _used_ to do things differently.”

He flipped the page, not really reading the words. “Times have changed.”

She looked at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice. “You were on the other side of the schism, weren’t you?” His eyes locked with hers. “The vile one?”

He laughed through his nose, suppressing the one that threatened to leap from his throat. “ _Vile_ ,” He mocked her tone. “What a stupid word for a stupid girl.”

If she could have sat back any further, she would have. Her eyes comically wide at the insult never before used in her presence. “ _Stupid?_ ”

“That _is_ what they call someone who doesn’t know a thing these days, isn’t it?” He leered.

“I don’t know,” she leaned forward, “what do they call you?”

“Why, they call me Count Olaf.” He smiled with teeth, “I should make a note that you forget simple things, shouldn’t I?”

She leaned back once more. “I’ll bet you aren't even a real Count.”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”

“How childish.”

“ _How childish_.”

She scoffed, “I do _not_ sound like that.”

“You do. You do sound like a stuck-up heiress with a superiority complex.”

Her jaw dropped. “Wow. Perhaps my lessons will be in acting like a petulant five year old?”

“No, you’ve got that one covered. Pressing on…”

The silence was filled with the clattering of the train. Soon the June sun was blocked out by the appearance of tall reeds, similar to a kelp forest. Violet had no choice but to turn from the window.

“I don’t like you,” she squinted.

He shrugged as the train lights flickered on. “Seems we’ve found common ground to start on.”

“Where are we going anyway?”

“Does it really matter?”

“No," she sighed, "I suppose not.”

He tipped his pen at her, “Now you’re learning.”

The train crawled to a stop as passengers gathered their belongings and stood.

“Stain’d-By-The-Sea,” The conductor boomed, “Last call for Stain’d-By-The-Sea.”

She turned, “Is that us?”

“Not this time, no.”

She defaulted to leaning back in her seat. “You will at least tell me when it’s time to get off, won’t you?”

He smirked as he returned to the paper.


	2. The question is, has she been good to me?

“Bigleyville,” The conductor announced, “Now arriving in Bigleyville.”

Violet was dreaming of a warm summer day by the seaside as Klaus and Sunny skipped rocks. The ocean waves were rocking her as she floated, back and forth, albeit a bit roughly. “Baudelarie! Miss Baudelaire!” She blinked up at her chaperone. “I could leave you behind but then I wouldn’t get paid.”

She sighed as she gathered her one suitcase from the overhead rack. “You get paid?” She questioned, her mind still fuzzy.

He laughed, “You think I would escort a snot-nosed brat for free?”

“My nose is clean and I haven’t been all that bratty, now, have I?”

“Baudelaire is as Baudelaire does.”

She headed for the sliding door. “You sound like you’ve personally met every member in my family tree.”

He was silent for a moment as he adjusted his shoulder bag. “I’ve met enough.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, then forward to step out the exit. She would file that away for later. After she smoothed her skirt from travel, she looked up. The city before her caused her eyes to widen. Before that day she had never seen a skyscraper, couldn’t even comprehend the word. Now she had to bend backwards to attempt to see the top. Bigleyville was a bustling metropolis.

“Amateur,” he muttered as he pushed past her. “You’re blocking the line. Come on.”

She rushed to meet him, pressing against a wave of people. “All right, I’m ready. What’s our mission?”

“No,” Olaf countered as he caught a thief’s pilfering hand from taking the purse under her arm. He twisted it with a sickening crunch and left the man in agony. “You are _not_ ready. You will never _be_ ready. Yet, here we are none-the-less.”

She barely had time to look back before the man was buried in a blur of people. “I-“ She tucked the strap of her purse around her neck, “Um, thank you?”

“It wasn’t for you. I need that money to buy lunch.”

“Hm,” her lip became a thin line. “I suppose you deserve it. Where to?”

She looked up at the sign with a neon bulldog. “The Dog Diner? That doesn’t sound altogether appetizing.”

“Good.” He opened the glass door for himself to walk through, “Maybe then you won’t eat so much. Saves some cash.”

“Excuse me?” She caught the door as she followed. “You make it sound as if _I_ will be financing this whole adventure.”

“Bingo,” he pointed at her as he slid into a worn leather booth. He raised a hand after sitting and was met with a hot coffee the color of tar.

“Then, shouldn’t I be the one reimbursed at the end of this venture?” She unfolded the paper napkin and put it in her lap. Coffee was shoved in her direction, despite her dissent.

“You mean your _parents_ should be reimbursed.”

“What?”

“Do you have a job, Miss Baudelaire?”

“Not before this one, no.”

“Then that money can’t possibly be yours.”

“It’s my allowance!”

He snorted, “How trite.”

“I’ve earned it through hard work.”

He placed his bony forearm on the table and leaned forward. “Hard work? _Hard_ work? I don’t suppose you mean chores and good grades?”

“In fact I do.”

He tossed his head back in laughter. “You don’t know the meaning of the word, Baudelaire. But I aim to teach it to you. Firsthand.”

She stirred endless amounts of milk and sugar into the tar. “Good,” she took a sip. Her efforts were apparently in vain. “I suppose you’ll be earning that paycheck then.”

“Oh, I will,” he sat back.

“Now this job-”

“Burger,” he announced to the grimy waitress with cat eye glasses, “rare. As in, how are it is to find a specimen of your quality in this city. Here’s my card if you ever get lonely.”

She blushed, taking it with a wave, “Stop.”

Violet cringed. “I’ll have the soup.”

The waitress looked her over with the same lukewarm temperature as the soup she was about to receive, then headed off to the kitchen.

“Do you _have_ to do that?” Violet turned back.

“Do what?” He shrugged as he tucked the paper napkin into his unbuttoned collar.

“Act like a dog.”

“This _is_ the place,” he gave a wolfish grin.

“ _Ugh_ ,” she exhaled as she placed her face in her hand and looked out the window to people watch. There was a man with a bun, an executive with glasses, and a child licking an ice cream cone. “So many of them,” she spoke under her breath.

“As many as there are cockroaches in this city.” He bit into his bloody meat.

“Disgusting,” she muttered.

“I know, right?”

“Not them, you! Aren’t we here to help those people?”

He stopped, placing the burger on the chipped china. “We’re here to help ourselves. Or, more specifically, me.”

She examined him critically. “Why _did_ we decide to re-merge after the schism?”

“Beats me,” he continued to eat.


	3. The welcome gift

“The room will be 846, elevators are just down the hall. May I have a card for incidentals?”

Violet looked to Olaf who was staring wistfully at the hotel bar. “Seriously?” She narrowed her brows.

He shifted his eyes back to her. “What? You’re the heiress here, not me.”

She breathed an exasperated sigh as she shuffled through her purse. “If I’m going to be paying for it I might as well ask, can we have two separate rooms?”

“I’m sorry Miss,” the young attendant declined, “we are all sold out. There’s a convention going on this weekend. Hotels are booked all around the block. You and your father are going to have to share.”

“Father?!” she sputtered indignantly.

“Yes, darling dearest,” Olaf placed a hand on her shoulder, “I know you hate my snoring but we’re going to have to share.”

She looked up at him and hissed quietly, “This had better be a part of the plan.”

He avoided her gaze as the attendant handed Violet her card. “Will that be all?”

“That will be all,” Olaf spoke as he prompted Violet to turn down the hallway, “thank you.”

“What’s all this _father_ business?” Violet grumbled as they walked.

“Would there be any other reason for a girl to purchase a hotel room to spend a night with a man exactly twice her age?”

“Yes. Ours.”

“Ah, ah! Any reason that you would care to explain to others?”

She huffed, “No.”

“Exactly. Chaperones and apprentices have always shared a room. That’s so they can _chaperone_ you, simple girl.”

She ignored his jab. “And, are they always of the opposite sex?”

The elevator door opened with a ding as they stepped inside.

“Why, Miss Baudelaire,” Olaf pressed a hand to his heart scandalously, “should it matter if the two are of the opposite sex?”

“It matters if the man is you,” she growled.

“I am wounded,” he exaggerated, “absolutely _wounded!_ ”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re the one in need of a chaperone.”

He snorted a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not my type.”

“Oh, successful women too high maintenance for you?” She placed the keycard into the lock.

“Not at all, girls that recently had their training wheels removed just don’t seem to do it for me.”

The door opened with a click. Violet felt the air knocked out of her as her body hit the ground. She blinked to get her bearings, looking up at the man above her. “Olaf!” She puffed as she shoved him, “That’s going too far!”

“I’ll say,” he removed himself as he eyed the knife embedded in the wall behind them. “Cutlery is such a tacky welcome gift.”

“Oh!” she startled, “Oh! What on Earth…”

“Come on,” he dusted himself off as he stood up, pulling her from her daze. “I’ve got a feeling I know who sent it.”

They ran towards the elevators where convention guests and a lady with a stroller were waiting. “No time,” he muttered, “let’s take the stairs.”

“Olaf!” Violet breathed as she rounded the second set.

“Count Olaf,” he corrected.

She rolled her eyes, “ _Count_ Olaf, was that knife meant for us? Who could want us dead in such a short time? How would they know where to find us?”

“Questions, questions,” he tutted.

“Yes, well, of course!”

“You say you’re good at math, why don’t you figure it out?”

“I need a clue!”

“You need experience. Tell me, how many people know our room number?”

“You and me, that’s it.”

“Wrong.”

“What do you mean _wrong?_ ”

“I mean you’re wrong Baudelaire, get used to it. Who else knows?”

“Why, it was just us. Us and the attendant.”

“Bingo.”

“The attendant?”

“Yes. He was the only one at the desk and the bar patrons were too far away to hear.”

“Could he have time to call someone while we were in the elevator?”

“Now you’re getting it. But, even then, he would be the one making the call.” Olaf kicked the stair door open in the lobby, “Ma’am!” he called to the lady at the front desk. “Do you know where the young man went that helped us out earlier?”

“I’m afraid we have several on staff. Could you describe him for me?”

“Chestnut hair, green eyes, tan, early twenties, mole on his neck.”

Violet noted the thorough description from the man she’d assumed to be eyeing his options for whiskey.

“I’m afraid we don’t employ anyone matching that description.”

“I see,” Olaf drawled as he looked towards the rotating door. “In any manner, we have a problem with our room.”


	4. Of villains and hot dogs

“And now we’re shopping. _Shopping?_ ”

“It was a traumatic affair.” Olaf removed the 50% off sticker from one item on the rack and placed it on the jacket hanging from his arm. “Haven’t you heard of retail therapy?”

“Come on, Olaf, we’re in danger!” She crossed her arms in a huff, “Aren’t you supposed to be my mentor? Aren’t you supposed to, you know, _teach_ me something?”

“I do believe there was supposed to be a ‘Count’ in there.” He turned to her, back straighter than she’d thought he was capable of, “If you’ll be quiet, _princess_ , you’ll observe. And if you’ll observe, you just might gain some of that sweet insight you’ve been craving like a toddler in need of a cookie.”

“Princess?” She barked as he draped the clothing over her shoulder. “You’re the princess here, your majesty! Apparently I’m just your humble servant!”

“Oh, _majesty_ ,” He nodded as he moved forward to the next rack, “could be better than Count. That’ll do servant girl.”

Violet gave a frustrated grunt as she dropped the items on the floor. Olaf turned to her, eyes slightly wide, almost as if in mock alarm. “Buy your own clothes,” she spouted before turning on her heel towards the hot dog stand outside.

Much to her un-surprise, the man assigned as her mentor did not follow her out onto the busy sidewalk. And why should she care? “Ridiculous!” She stomped her foot as she approached the silver cart.

“It’s just hot dogs, lady,” the portly man in the apron looked both confused and affronted.

“No, no,” her hair swished, “I mean the man that I’m with. Not your hot dogs. Speaking of which, I’ll take one.”

“Ah,” the man spoke as he clasped the meat with his tongs, “lover’s quarrel?”

“What? No! _Yuck!_ ” She stuck out her tongue, “Absolutely not.”

“Uh-huh,” the man placed the object on the bun. “Mustard? Ketchup?”

“Just ketchup, please.” Violet dug for a dollar in her purse.

“Then, why you so upset?”

“About the ketchup?”

“No, girlie, about the guy. If he don’t matter, why don’t you ditch him and get on with your life?”

“I don’t,” she stalled for words, “I don’t know if I’d have a life.”

“Wowza,” he handed her the dollar dog with a napkin, “you’ve got it bad.”

Her lips thinned as his misunderstanding. “I’m just going to eat this now.” She turned to watch the people on the street. It was around lunch time, businessmen scurrying for something to eat, teenagers sitting on stoops, women pushing children in strollers. How could a world that looked so normal contain such a seedy underbelly? Where did the villains go in the sunlight? Were they walking the street beside her right now? …Would she even be able to tell? She swallowed as she looked at the people moving around the store from the large glass windows. Was her mentor one of those villains? Was it truly the noble people seeking him out to put an end to his life? Could she be considered a villain for associating with such a man? Fear thrummed in her heart. She wanted to run like the vendor had said. She wanted to hop the next train back to her parents, but she knew that they would turn her right back around. Back into the arms of this strange man, this Count. Not for the first time in her life she began to contemplate their decision. It made no sense. The man was cheap, sleazy, combative, and self-centered. She looked into the windows once more. But, she was safe. Even if it was the man himself who put her in danger, no harm had befallen her in his care. If one could call it care. She sighed as she threw the refuse in the basket. It was time to give him one more try.

As she moved towards the entrance, she spied someone tailing her mentor around the store. A young girl, curly hair, glasses askew on her freckled nose. She was always one rack behind him, flipping through clothes she obviously had no interest in. There was something held behind her back, her body turned in a way that Violet couldn’t make it out. _Olaf!_

“Olaf,” she walked in with purpose.

“Ah, there you are servant girl. Ready to buy my new wardrobe?”

She stopped near the checkout, “Olaf, come here!”

“Just one moment, I had my eye on this…”

“No,” she wrapped her small hand around his wrist, “now!”

He examined the tremble of her soft fingers. “All right, I’ll get it another day.” Suddenly, she turned him so he was pressed against the counter, “So eager, Baudelaire!”

“Shut it,” she hissed at the man before turning to the girl that tailed them. “What’s behind your back?”

“I, um…” the girl stuttered.

“Show me!” Violet growled.

“Here!” The girl sobbed holding out a crumpled notebook and pen. “I just wanted his autograph! I didn’t know he had a bodyguard!”

“Autograph?” Violet’s brow furrowed as she eyed the paper.

“He’s _the_ Count Olaf, right? The actor from _The Daily Punctilio_?”

“But, of course!” Olaf stepped out from behind his apprentice with a flourish, “Always here for my fans.”

“Oh thank you, sir, thank you!” The girl cooed as he scribbled and sent her on her way.

“What?” Violet breathed as the door chimed at the would-be assassin’s exit.

“Violet.”

“What?” Her stunned expression brought a grin to his face.

“You love me.”

“I do **not**! Why is everyone implying-”

“You want to _kiss_ me!”

“I wanted to prevent a stabbing!”

“You want to _marry_ me!”

“Marry you? I **hate** you!”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

“I do! And if whoever is tormenting us fails to kill you, why, I’ll do it myself!”

“Bless your heart, Miss Baudelaire, you really think you’re capable?”

“I know so!”

“Hm,” he leaned back with a smile of approval, “guess we’d better catch those bad guys then.”


	5. Talk

“Are you still awake?”

“No. I’m sleeping.”

“So you’re talking in your sleep?”

“Baudelaire.”

“I do hope you aren’t saying my name in your sleep.”

“Baudelaire, Baudelaire, Baudelaire. I can say it all I want. Whenever I want.”

“Oh, right, of course you’re a Duke so you can just lord over-“

“ _Count_.”

“My. That’s an odd request. 1, 2, 3, 4…”

“Ha **ha**. Enough with the slapstick. What do you want?”

Violet turned over in her scratchy woolen blanket on the roll-away twin as she eyed Olaf starring at the ceiling from his double. “Are you a villain?”

He craned his head from his pillow, the whites of his eyes catching the moonlight from a crack in the blinds. “What do you think?”

“I think someone thinks you’re a villain and they want you dead. Or incapacitated. That knife was aimed higher than my height.”

“Maybe someone thinks _you’re_ a villain. Maybe that fan girl is trying to save me from your desperate clutches. Heaven knows you were drooling all over me in that store. I fear for my purity right now, in this very room.”

“Drooling all over- _purity_? Olaf. How can you worry about something you never had?”

“I can see the way that you’re lustfully ogling my body.”

“ _Lustfully?_ Olaf you are barely wearing boxers, if you would call them that, and you haven’t even bothered with the sheets that they gave you. Which seem to look more comfortable than mine, so if you don’t want them I’ll take them.”

He shoved the sheets under him. “I run hot.”

She rolled her eyes in the darkness. “I’m sure you do. Now, do you have any enemies?”

“Baudelaire brats.”

“Aside from me and my- wait, do you mean my siblings?”

“You have _siblings?_ More of you. Ugh, how terrible.”

“You didn’t know? …You must have been talking about my parents.”

The room was silent as the air conditioner rattled on.

“Olaf, what happened with my parents? Are they… are they really your enemies?”

 He rolled away, facing the wall. “Go back to sleep brat.”

“No,” Violet’s bed squeaked as she sat up. “Something must have happened. And if it did, why in the world would they leave me alone with you?”

“Good question. Maybe they want the insurance money?”

“Olaf,” he felt Violet’s knees compress the bed behind him, “ _Count_ Olaf, I need you to talk to me.”

“Wrong. You _want_ me to talk to you. You _need_ something like air or food… or a brain.”

Violet huffed and leaned over him to catch his eyes. “Talk to me.”

“No.”

“No is a start.”

“ _No_ it’s not.”

“Why _not?_ ”

“Now, you see why I was worried about my purity?”

“What are you talking about?”

He rolled over, his face between both of her arms as she peered down at him. His brow bent in mock consternation, “Violet. You’ve pinned me down in my own bed.”

“You’re ignoring the question!”

“You’re ignoring my _privacy!_ ”

“Privacy,” she sniffed as she pulled back. “Okay, Olaf, all right. You can have your _privacy_. I’m going for a walk.”

“It’s after midnight.”

“So?”

“You were nearly mugged and stabbed in the _daylight_.”

“ _So?_ ”

He sat up, “Are you really that stupid, Baudelaire?”

“I’ll stay in the hotel.”

“Oh. The same one you almost got stabbed in.”

They both eyed each other, as much was possible in the dim light.

“Am I supposed to be your prisoner, then?”

“Wrong again, Baudelaire, I am very much **yours.** ”

“Then, you’re free!”

“ _What?_ ”

“I set you free from whatever weird obligation you had to my parents or my parents had to you that you won’t even talk about. _Poof!_ You’re free.”

“…You really think it’s that simple.”

“Yes. I do.” His eyes caught the light once more and she saw genuine pain, anger. Her eyes searched his as she took her place on the bed once more. “Talk to me, Olaf… please.”

“You want me to talk? Fine. I’ll talk. I hate your parents, Baudelaire. I wish they were never born. That you and your siblings weren’t even a thought.”

She swallowed as she grabbed her knees in the stillness. There was a menace forming in the room, like a solid shadow. “I’m sorry… For whatever they did. It must have been terrible.” The air conditioner sputtered to a halt. “But, they must have wanted to make amends somehow if they placed me in your care.”

“They must have thought nothing of you, it made me want to laugh or puke. I wanted to violate you.”

 _“What?”_ Violet pulled back and stared.

“I figured that you were their offering. Their sacrifice for what they did.” He turned to her in the darkness. “I wanted to break you _every_ way humanly possible. Send you back a shattered thing.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Of course you don’t, how could you possibly _understand_?"

“I…” she reached her hand out and let it fall into her lap in a fist. “That’s why someone’s after you. They know. They know what you wanted to do.”

“And they say that the schism’s over.” He brushed a hair behind her ear, his hand resting on her neck as he spoke in a whisper, “Aren’t you scared, Violet?”

“No.”

He gave her a hard look. “Then, you’re a fool.”

“I’m not. You said you _wanted_ to. Past tense. Something’s changed.”

“Perhaps.” He looked her over. “Or perhaps that’s what I want you to believe.”

“Well, I know one thing for certain. We’re going to solve this and then we’re going to go our separate ways. You’ll never have to think of me or my family again. I’m not sure how to truly make amends but maybe that’s a start?”

“Or… I could kill you in your sleep.”

She was silent for a moment. “That would be too quick.”

A thin smile spread on his face. “Clever.”

“Olaf…”

“Hm?”

“I’m not my parents.”

He looked at her for a moment. “Unfortunately for you, neither am I.”


	6. Wrong

Lemony Snicket checked his pocket watch in the candlelight of the cheap motel room. 3 o’clock: The witching hour. Much like the water cycle, the time had come around again. Much unlike the water cycle, it left nothing clean. Nothing renewed in its’ wake.

“What’s the matter?” Klaus rubbed his eyes at the sudden intrusion of light. “Is everything all right?”

Lemony closed the watch lid slowly, ever careful not to damage Beatrice’s gift from their night at the opera. “Nothing you need worry about,” Lemony spoke, “go back to sleep.”

Klaus blinked once, twice. Then, he rolled over and carried the heft of the blanket with him on the twin-sized bed. Sunny stirred in her roll-away crib.

Truth be told, the boy need worry about everything. His sister was in mortal danger. The timing of the situation was wrong. The second hand moved as his head throbbed, wrong. Soft breathing filled the room, the pulled snore sounding wrong. He was supposed to look after the Baudelaires. He was their godfather. And yet, somewhere along the way he’d turned his head. And as soon as his head was turned, his feet had tripped over a rock. That slippery rock whose name was Count Olaf. Violet’s Chaperone.

On the very day Lemony watched her get onto that train to begin her new life, he’d lost track of Beatrice and Bertrand’s.

When he went to visit the Baudelaire household, all that was left was one jittery Klaus and one rather bitey Sunny. They hadn’t seen their parents in a week. The children showed him the note, one not from Beatrice. He knew her penmanship. Loved the way she looped her l’s and dotted her i’s with something like an o, as if she were surprised at their very existence. The note which read, We will be back in a few days held no surprise above the i’s . It was no surprise it was a forgery. Klaus and Sunny knew it as well. What they didn’t know was the whereabouts of their parents.

And so, the trio left on the search for the missing Baudelaire sibling, to inform her of the mysterious case. And even more so in search of the missing parents which were missing their children almost the same. Lemony blinked in the darkness. With the candle out, he needed something to strengthen his spirit and gather his wits around him. Perhaps he could stop by the 24-hour Cat Café.

 

* * *

 

Violet didn’t want to wake, but the buzz of Olaf’s snoring was hardly soothing music to dream by. She looked over at the red glow of the alarm clock. 3 in the morning. Good grief. Apparently, there was rest for the wicked. The righteous were the ones that had to be up at all hours of the night. She sighed. Well, there was no sleeping now. What did Olaf know- Perhaps she could walk into town if she couldn’t walk around the hotel? She gathered a jacket with a hood and pulled the strings tight around her head as she walked into the night.  
The town was cold and silent. The only noise came from slow-moving cars, reminding her of waves lapping on a faraway shore. Come to think of it, she’d like it if she were a boat out to sea. Then she could hoist anchor and set sail away from the crude Chaperone she’d been given. She scuffed her shoes on the sidewalk. Mom and dad had chosen him for a reason- hadn’t they? He must have some sort of lessons in that thick skull of his. Or… maybe her parents felt guilty for whatever qualm it was that they had with Olaf. Maybe they were passing her off as some sacrifice to make amends for past transgressions. She shivered in the evening air. No. There was no way that could be true. She knew them better than that. Better than him. Didn’t she?

She soft glow of the automated Cat Café and the swishing of the mascot’s eyes and tail above the door caught her attention. It was the familiar hat and huddled mass inside of it which maintained it. “Lemony?” Violet mouthed, “Lemony!” She ran inside to greet her godfather.

He turned from his hot chocolate one, twice. “Violet?” He spoke as if dreaming. “Violet Baudelaire is that you?”

“Of course it is!” she ran up to hug the man, wrapping her arms around his midsection before stepping back. “What are you doing here?” she looked around, “At 3 AM nonetheless?”

He quirked a rare smile, “I could say the same of you.”

“Well, you try to share a room with Olaf.”

“Wouldn’t care to relive that experience,” Lemony stood, “Nevermind all that. Violet, you’re in danger.”

“You’re telling me,” she laughed. “I had to avoid a knife earlier.”

“Olaf?” Lemony’s eyes grew wary.

“Yes, he had to avoid the knife as well,” Violet assured.

Lemony’s hand tremored, “Everything’s all wrong...”

Violet smiled, “It’s not all bad, I mean, I know I have been in training like you or my parents but it’s just one knife. And one knife in the scheme of things is-”

“Your parents are missing,” Lemony announced somberly.

“What?” Violet stared.

“They’ve been gone since you left.”

“That’s…” she swallowed against her dry throat. “That’s not funny Lemony. If you want me to go home just say so. I know you disapprove of my Chaperone. You’ve made that very clear over the years.”

His sad eyes held her, “Klaus and Sunny are with me. Come with us Violet, you’ll be safer in my care. Your siblings are worried about you.”

“Stop it.” She breathed. “You mean you’re worried about me.”

“I am, too.” He admitted.

“You’re testing me!” Violet’s eyes grew watery. Her tired pulse sped up. “They said you’d do this!”

“Violet,” Lemony shook his head imperceptibly, “Oh, Violet…”

“I’m not giving up,” Violet backed away, “no matter how much I want to, not yet!”

“Violet!” Lemony took a step forward as she sped out the door into the night.

Violet could only hear the sound of her heart in her ears, her breath in gasps, her shoes flopping in record time on the pavement. Perhaps she ran fastest from the truth.

_What if he wasn’t lying? What if this wasn’t a test? What if her parents were missing? What if…?_

She held the door open, hallway light bathing their cramped room as Olaf squinted from his half-seated position on the bed. “Baudelaire?” His voice came rough from sleep.

She wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes against the tears. In the morning she wouldn’t remember his arms around her, his broad hand tangled in her hair.


End file.
